


Recognition

by Fitzchivalry1122



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Character Death, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 21:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13935693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzchivalry1122/pseuds/Fitzchivalry1122
Summary: *Trigger Warning* Please consider archive warnings before reading this fic. This story contains non-con elements."The fact was, it had been so long since he had last seen Cas, that Dean almost didn't recognise him. He'd changed his hair and sure, he'd lost a lot of weight, but he was still Cas. Still with those wide blue eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled. Jesus, still that same aftershave – sandalwood and clove, and maybe something else -  a scent that Dean didn’t even realise he’d been missing until he could smell it again.If you ignored the weight loss, Dean thought, Cas looked good; unfairly good. And he had waltzed into the garage like no time had passed at all; like he hadn’t ruined Dean’s life when he walked out the door almost four years earlier."





	Recognition

He had appeared out of nowhere. The garage had been empty, and then suddenly it wasn’t – like an apparition or a magician’s trick, Cas was suddenly standing amongst the toolbox debris - the disembodied brake pads and the shock absorbers. Tra da! It’s  _Castiel Novak!_  

_Jesus, speaking of shock absorption._  
  
The fact was, it had been so long since he had last seen Cas, that Dean almost didn't recognise him. He'd changed his hair and sure, he'd lost a lot of weight, but he was still _Cas._ Still with those wide blue eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled. Jesus, still that same aftershave – sandalwood and clove, and maybe something else -  a scent that Dean didn’t even realise he’d been missing until he could smell it again. If you ignored the weight loss, Dean thought, Cas looked good;  _unfairly_  good. And he had waltzed into the garage like no time had passed at all; like he hadn’t ruined Dean’s life when he walked out the door almost four years earlier.     
  
Of course, Dean didn’t say any of this. In an uncharacteristic moment of self-awareness, he realised that he had the capacity to fuck this all the way up.   
  
Cas smiled. It was a small, almost imperceptible smile.   
  
“Hi.”   
  
_‘Hi?’ Fucking ‘hi?’_ It was like an out-of-body experience. Dean could almost see himself, how the colour must have drained from his face, how he was elbow-deep in the engine of a Prius and covered in oil. He made an effort to snap himself out of it. He tried turning his attention to the engine - to the brake wires he was still holding in his hand.   
  
“Hey.” He said back. Because what else could he say?   
  
There was a moment of silence. Cas’ eyes were on him, Dean could feel it. He tried to remember what he was doing with the car before Cas walked in. It was so hard to think, with those eyes watching him. He began fucking around with the spark plugs, trying to make himself look busy. Cas never knew shit about car engines anyway.   
  
Over his shoulder, Cas said, “When will it be ready?” He was close now. Too close. Dean could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of his neck.   
  
Belatedly, Dean realised the Prius must be his. And then he realised, yes, of course it would have been Cas’, because a silver Toyota Prius is just the sort of generic, bullshit car that Cas was always attracted to. _Of course_. And he had been working on Cas’ car this whole fucking time, and _fuck Bobby_  for not mentioning it to him when he was handing out the job sheets this morning.   
  
Dean gave up, threw the brake wires aside. He turned to Cas, looked him in the face and, oh god, that smile. Those _crows feet._ Dean felt like he could die.   
  
“It’s not moving,” he said, “not any time soon. Hope you’re not looking to drive anywhere in the near future.”   
  
Cas shrugged. He was so goddamn close.     
  
And then Dean couldn't help it. He had to ask.

“What are you doing here, man?”  
  
And Cas’ eyes – his beautiful, blue eyes – narrowed.   
  
And cool as anything, he said, “I just came to check on my car.”

#

  
  
They agreed to go for one beer - and then one beer turned into several. And then suddenly it became imperative that he get Cas to come home with him – as if having Cas in his apartment would, in some way, substantiate his sudden reappearance into his life. Make it all more real.   
  
They talked about anything and everything, but not about their past. Which suited Dean just fine.   
    
Cas, it turned out, was not calling himself ‘Cas’ anymore. Now, he was going by the name ‘Clarence’ – and he’d got an apartment above a restaurant in Lawrence. He was working as an apprentice, he said. Cas!  _An apprentice!_  He was 43, for fuck’s sake. Dean, of course, doesn’t say any of this. There are a lot of things Dean could say, but doesn’t.     
  
But there was something different about Cas; asides from the dramatic weight-loss, and the name change. And, okay, maybe his laugh seemed a little off too, but the thing that really bothered Dean was the tattoo on his arm.   
  
  
Cas had a tattoo.  _Cas._    
  
Dean recognised it as a, ( _what were they called?)_ , an ‘ouroboros’ – a snake eating its own tail. And it was not that Dean had anything against tattoos, but this one looked so out-of-place on Cas’ arm; and it was  _faded_. That was the thing that had got to him. The fact that it was faded meant that Cas must’ve had the tattoo for a while, which meant he must have got inked-up fairly soon after walking out on Dean. It was such a small thing to get riled up about, but _damn_.     
  
Of course, the tattoo hadn’t stopped him from inviting Cas back to his apartment, and it certainly hadn’t stopped him from making love to him on the couch; frenzied, noisily. He bit Cas, just above the shoulder, where he used to like getting bit. He told him he loved him, and for a moment it was just like it used to be, until suddenly it wasn’t, and Cas picked up his shoes and left.   
  
Neither of them spoke. Cas wouldn’t even look at him. Dean found himself wondering if he had crossed some sort of invisible line.   
  
They had never had any lines before.   

#

  
  
  
Ever since that day in the garage, Dean was seeing Cas everywhere. The fifth time he sees Cas,  _(yes, he’s counting),_  and of course, it was at a bar.   
  
He saw Cas before Cas could see him - saw him pick at the label on his beer, which was a gesture so typically  _Cas_ that Dean felt like something inside him was getting pulled tight; tight enough to snap. He’s aware that his knuckles are white as he grips his beer bottle.   
  
He knew what his brother would say; that this wasn’t healthy, that he should move on. Maybe find somebody else.   
  
It took Dean three shots of tequila before he worked up the courage to approach Cas again. He doesn’t take the seat next to him, instead choosing the lean against the bar – closer, more intimate.  
  
“Hi Clarence.” He said. Cas didn’t even look up from his beer.   
  
As it turned out, Cas was not calling himself Clarence anymore. He wasn’t calling himself Cas, either. No, now he was called Jimmy, and Dean made some quip about Cas joining the witness protection program that hadn’t gone down too well. Still, he’d put on a little bit of weight, which was a relief. Mostly, it appeared to be muscle, and it was good to see him finally take care of himself.   
  
This time, Dean followed Cas back to his place; which wasn’t, as it turned out, an apartment in Lawrence. Cas refused to kiss him at all this time. Dean pushed though – pressed his lips against Cas’, leaning his weight against his whole body. He didn’t want to give him the option to run, not until they’d had a chance to talk this out.   
  
Against Cas’ mouth. He said, “Come on. How long are you going to keep this up?”   
  
And Cas said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”   
  
He struggled. Cas never used to struggle, but now it’s becoming a regular thing. The third time, he struggled. The fourth time too.   
  
“The name-changes, man. The tattoos, the relocations. Blowing so goddamn hot and cold all the time. Just tell me the truth. Why do you keep running?”   
  
“Fuck you,” said Cas. “You fucking  _psycho._  Get off me.”   
  
“I love you, you idiot. I’m trying to help you.”   
  
“You can help me by  _getting off_  me!!”   
  
He didn’t mean to do it – it wasn’t even a conscious decision, he was just so goddamn frustrated. He felt himself wrap his fingers around Cas’ neck, and press the thumbs into his windpipe. And then there was that out-of-body experience again; Dean could see himself, pressed against Cas, watching as his pretty blue eyes began to bulge. He watched Cas’ skin go red and then blue. He doesn’t know how long he holds him there but his hands start to cramp, and then he’s himself again, and Cas is dead.   
  
Cas is dead. And Dean feels like he’s going to be sick. 

  
He has to bundle his lover’s body into the trunk of his car; drive him north to Wolf River. Carrying a body is difficult when it’s a dead weight, but Dean is used to it.     
  
It isn’t until he stops at an estuary and pops the trunk when he finally notices that the ourobouros is gone.     
  
_Jesus, speaking of shock absorption._    


#

  
It was the eighth time he’d seen Cas. He’d turned up on his doorstep of all places, very much alive; and this time, he has facial piercings.   
  
Dean is so happy, he starts to cry. He is all tears and snot-bubbles, and Cas doesn’t know how to react. He places a hand on his shoulder. This time, he is calling himself Manny. He says he’s moving in next door.   
  
The way Dean sees it, everyone has one person like this.  Someone who makes it feel like your insides are resonating; swelling like a strain of violins. And that is how Dean is feeling right now - like his blood is singing. Cas is alive. He didn’t kill him. He’s alive.   
  
This time, Dean makes sure Cas knows that he loves him. He worships him.   
  
“Fuck Cas,” he says, “you’re so beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful.”   
  
And Cas says, “ ** _Please.”_**    
  
Cas says, “ _I’m not him. Let me go. Just let me go please.”_    
  
He says,  _“I won’t tell anyone.”_  
  
Dean hates it. He hates that he lies to him like this. Him and Cas, they used to tell each other everything.   
  
_“Please”,_  Cas says. He starts to struggle, because he sometimes likes to struggle, and Dean does what he has to do; presses his forearm on his neck and leans his weight on it.   
  
It’s only when he’s dead that Dean really gets to look at him. When his eyes are no longer the right shade of blue, and his nose is the wrong shape. Again, he finds he has to bundle his lover’s body into the trunk of his car and drive him north, to where the rivers meet.   
  
Carrying a body is difficult when it’s a dead weight, but Dean is used to it.   


End file.
